Dorotea made an It’s not important gesture.
“Call me Len,” Fischer said idly, then went on. “Well, neither one of them is what I expected. He looks like a librarian, and she looks like . . . well, ‘grandma’ fits. Not at all what I expected.”
“That’s probably because you expected them to look like the evil men in the black uniforms in Hollywood Nazi movies,” Stein said.
“Probably,” Fischer admitted, chuckling.
“Most of the Nazis you see in movies are Jews, Len, I hope you know.”
“Are they really?” Fischer asked, smiling.
“So my father tells me,” Stein went on. “He tells me that when he goes on the Sabbath to Temple Israel on Hollywood Boulevard, he sees so many familiar Nazi faces that if it wasn’t for the yarmulkes he’d think he was in the Reichstag.”
“You’re teasing, right?” Dorotea asked.
“No, I’m not,” Stein said.
“Let’s talk about the Nazi librarian,” Frade said. “Did you get anything out of him, Siggy?”
“I don’t know how good it is, but I got a lot out of him,” Stein said. “That’s one of the reasons Grandma is pissed at him. But I don’t know if that’s an act, too.”
“What did you get?”
“All sorts of lists and organizational charts about the German embassy. You know, boxes and arrows, saying who’s responsible for what, and who takes orders from whom. Phone numbers. Addresses. Things like that. Shall I get it?”
“What would I do with it now? We’ll have to have von Wachtstein look at it”—he saw the look on Stein’s face, stopped, then went on—“to see if he’s telling us the truth.”
Then he stopped again, and formed his thoughts before going on.
“Fischer, you now know who we have in the German embassy. If the wrong people learn that name, he—and a lot of other good people—are going to die as painfully as the Krauts can kill them.”
“How do you know you can trust . . . Who did you say, von Wachtstein?”
“Major Hans-Peter Baron von Wachtstein, of the Luftwaffe,” Frade said. “Onetime fighter pilot. Awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross by Hitler himself.”
“And you trust him?”
Frade nodded solemnly. “He saved my life. And there’s more, but I just decided you don’t need to know more.”
“You mind telling me why?”
“There’s a very strong possibility that the wrong people will be asking you questions. And you obviously can’t tell them something you don’t know.”
“Do I get an explanation of that?” Stein asked.
Frade looked at Stein a moment.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “If this operation of ours blows up the way I think it might—probably will—you, Siggy, are going to be the Lone Ranger out here.”
“Blows up?” Stein said.
“Just before we came out here, I told Chief—sorry—Lieutenant Schultz to rig thermite grenades on the radar, the radios, and the new code machine Fischer brought down here with him. His orders are that the moment he hears the Argentines have come onto the estancia to arrest me, he’s to torch everything and try to find some place on the estancia for everybody to hide until something can be done to get everybody out of Argentina, probably to Uruguay.”
“Jesus!”
“You’re stuck here with the Froggers.”
“You’re sure this is going to happen?” Stein said.
“I’m not, and neither is Schultz,” Dorotea said.
Frade glanced at her, then looked back to Stein.
“I’ll tell you what I told my wife and Schultz: I can’t afford to be an optimist.”
Stein shrugged in understanding.
“So I’ll take it from the top, Siggy. You can decide for yourself whether I’m right.”
Stein nodded.
Frade began: “When we—Delgano and I—went to Pôrto Alegre to pick up the Lodestar, the radios, the SIGABA, and Fischer, there was a man waiting for me . . .”
“So you came here to take Grandma’s picture,” Stein said after Frade was finished. “Because you think it’s important to this Mr. Dulles?”
It was more of a statement than a question.
Frade nodded. “And because I thought I might be able to salvage at least the pictures of her for him from the smoldering ruins of our operation.”
“You don’t know that, Cletus!” Dorotea said, and when he looked to her, she repeated, “ ‘The smoldering ruins.’ ”
“Baby, you don’t know how much I hope you’re right and I’m wrong, but I can’t go with crossed fingers and wishful thinking.”
“For the sake of argument, Clete,” Stein said, “say you’re right. What do I do with the Froggers if I hear they’ve arrested you?”
“They know too much, Siggy,” Frade said.
“I was afraid of that,” Stein said. He shrugged. “What the hell.”
“You can have Enrico do it, or Gómez, if it comes to that,” Clete said.
“If it comes to that, I’ll do it,” Stein said. He looked at Fischer. “What are a couple of nice Jewish boys like us doing here, doing things like this?”
Fischer raised his eyebrows in an expression that said Hell if I know.
Frade went on: “We’ll spend the night here, and leave for the estancia at first light. Gauchos will meet us as soon as we come onto the estancia. If—and I don’t think this is likely to happen—they say the cops or whatever haven’t come yet, then I’ll fire up the Lodestar and fly Fischer to Uruguay. That will at least get him and one roll of the film out of here.”
“And if you’re right,” Dorotea said, “and the police or whatever are looking for you, then what?”
“Then you will drive to the house—taking one of the rolls of film with you; which you will somehow manage to get to the embassy—and tell the cops you have no idea where your crazy husband is. Enrico will go with you. Fischer and I will get on horses and ride off into the sunset and hope we can hide until I figure out how to get him and me and everybody else out of the country.”
“I’ve never been on a horse,” Fischer said.
“Then that should be interesting,” Frade said.
“Well, let’s go take the goddamn pictures,” Stein said.
“New problem,” Frade said. “It’s dark. You can’t take pictures in the dark, can you? Maybe we’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning.”
“That depends on the camera,” Stein said.
Dorothy took the camera from her purse and handed it to him.
"My God,” Stein said. “A Leica I-C. Looks brand-new.”
“Is it a good camera?” Frade said. “More to the point, can we take pictures with it tonight?”
“Is it a good camera? Yeah. About as good as they come. You have film?”
Dorotea handed him four film cassettes, which he examined quickly.
“Jesus, this is hard to come by, too. ASA 200. Very fast. No problem with this. We just take the shades off the lamp.”
“You know about photography, Siggy?”
“My father’s in the camera business—motion and still—in Los Angeles.”
They watched as he loaded film into the camera with a practiced skill.
“Okay, let’s go,” Stein said when he’d finished.
Frau Frogger was sitting stiffly in a wooden chair, her hands folded in her lap.
Fischer and Stein were rearranging the light fixtures in the room to Stein’s satisfaction.
“Just her, or the librarian, too?” Stein asked when they finished with the lighting.
“How many pictures can you take?”
“These are thirty-six-exposure rolls; there’s two of them.”
“Priority one is her with Fischer and La Nación,” Frade said. “When you’re sure you have her, then we can take more with him. And what the hell, with me, too.”
“I protest,” Frau Frogger said in Spanish, then repeated it in German.
“One more word
out of you, señora,” Dorotea said coldly, “and we will take photographs of you without clothing.”
Frau Frogger snorted.
Dorotea slapped her face very hard.
“Hey!” Clete protested without thinking.
“You tell me that I can, Cletus, and when we finish taking her picture, I’ll take her out onto the pampas myself.”
Frade’s first reaction, of course, was surprise that Dorotea had slapped the woman. That was really out of character for Dorotea.
His second reaction was husbandly pride.
God, what a wife! She understands we have to keep this woman afraid, and is doing whatever is necessary to do it.
His third reaction, somewhat slow in coming, was far less pleasant.
Jesus Christ! That was no act. She slapped that woman with hate!
Confirmation of this came from the looks on the faces of Fischer and Stein and Enrico. Stein and Fischer had seen what Frade had seen—and were shocked and repelled. Enrico’s face showed approval.
Did she mean what she said about taking them out herself and killing them?
Of course not.
You’re pissing in the wind, Cletus.
The no-longer Virgin Princess, the angel walking the earth carrying your child, meant every word of what she said!
Confirmation of this came from the terrified faces of the Froggers.
Jesus H. Christ!
Then another thought he had heard somewhere—and had promptly dismissed as probably bullshit—now popped into his mind: The female of the species is always the more deadly.
I will be goddamned!
Well, you’re a Marine officer. You know the tactic to be applied here. When you’ve broken through the enemy’s defenses, don’t stop, continue the attack!
“Fischer, stand her up, hand Grandma La Nación, and smile for the birdie.”
Don Cletus Frade did not discuss with Doña Dorotea Mallín de Frade what had happened, not even after he had had more than his fair share of several bottles of merlot.
The reason was simple. He didn’t know what to say.
And he had thoughts later, after they had retired and shared conjugal relations, that he knew he didn’t dare share with his wife.
From their very first coupling, Dorotea—and she then really had been the Virgin Princess—had always been an enthusiastic partner.
But tonight was different!
Not a complaint, certainly, but tonight she really wanted to mate, and her response was nothing like any previous responses.
She literally couldn’t get enough.
And it had nothing to do with her being pregnant.
[THREE]
Estancia Casa Chica Near Tandil Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 0650 20 July 1943
“Since my husband devoutly believes that enormous breakfasts are a hallowed American custom,” Doña Dorotea announced brightly at breakfast, “I have done my best to be a good wife. There is grapefruit juice and milk, toast, coffee, and ham steaks. And as I understand that those of your religious persuasion aren’t allowed to eat pork, I had the cook grill some steak to go with the eggs. I hope that will be satisfactory.”
“Anything’s fine, Dorotea,” Stein said.
“I thought the least I could do,”Lla Señora Frade said, trying to smile brightly, “was feed the condemned men a last hearty meal.”
Clete said, “Baby, nobody’s going to die—”
“At least not today, probably,” she interrupted.
“—but I admit there is a good chance we’ll be playing cops and robbers later this morning.”
Stein suddenly laughed. “Oh, I wish I could be there to see Fischer getting on his first horse and riding off on the pampas. ‘Hi, ho, Silver, away!’ ” He paused, and then went on “That probably should be, ‘Oi veh, Silverman, away!’ ”
“Sergeants are not allowed to mock commissioned officers and gentlemen such as myself, Sergeant Stein,” Fischer said good-naturedly. “Perhaps you should keep that in mind.”
“You know, when they sent the Lone Ranger movie down here, they had to change Tonto’s name,” Stein said.
Frade said, “You’re a fountain of Hollywood information, aren’t you, Siggy?”
“I shit you not, Major,” Stein said. “ ‘Tonto’ means ‘stupid’ in Spanish.”
“That’s right, it does,” Dorotea said, and giggled. “ ‘The Masked Rider of the Plains, and his faithful Indian companion, Stupid.’ ”
Everyone started laughing.
Jesus, Frade thought, the laughter is coming close to being hysterical.
I’d probably put them over the edge if I mentioned the name of where we’ve built the airfield for South American Airways—Morón.”
Then Frade wondered if he was the only one thinking that nervousness— hell, not only that but fear and terror, too—was causing the hilarity.
As they were getting in the Horch, Sargento Rodolfo Gómez walked up to Frade.
“May I have a moment, Don Cletus?”
Frade followed him out of earshot of the people in and around the car.
“What’s on your mind, Rodolfo?”
“So you will not worry about Sargento Stein, Don Cletus . . .”
“Worry about him? Why?”
“Enrico says he does not think Sargento Stein has it in him to kill the Nazi bitch.”
“I think Enrico is wrong, Rodolfo. And I don’t want either of the Germans killed unless it is necessary.”
“I understand, Don Cletus. But if I see that Sargento Stein thinks he has to do it, I will do it for him. My conscience will not bother me later. Enrico is like my brother. His sister, may she be resting in peace with all the angels, was like my sister. You understand, Don Cletus?”
“I understand, Rodolfo, and I thank you.”
“Que Dios lo acompañe, Don Cletus.”
[FOUR]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo Near Pila Buenos Aires Province, Argentina 0915 20 July 1943
They had gone a little over a mile onto Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo when a gaucho, where the road passed close to a thick grove of ancient eucalyptus trees, moved his horse onto the road.
Frade braked the Horch with a sinking feeling. There was no immediate danger, but he felt sure the gaucho had been sent to tell him that at the big house were agents of the Bureau of Internal Security—or the Policía Federal— and that he was about to have to start running.
If not running for his life, then running away from spending a long time in a miserable prison cell.
The gaucho politely nodded when Frade had stopped, but didn’t say anything.
Frade looked into the grove, expecting to see saddled horses. What he saw in addition to three saddled horses and three horse-borne gauchos and the Model A Ford pickup that Lieutenant Oscar Schultz, USN, used for his transportation over the pampas was Schultz himself, wearing his gaucho outfit and walking toward the road.
Clete turned off the ignition. If he was going to go riding off into the pampas, Dorotea would drive the car to the big house.
Dorotea reached for his hand and held it.
“Well, I’ll tell you what’s happened,” Schultz said, quite unnecessarily.
“Thanks,” Clete replied sarcastically, and was immediately sorry, even though the sarcasm had sailed over Schultz’s head.
“Delgano is at the big house,” Schultz said. “He’s been there since half past seven. He’s alone, and nobody else has come onto the estancia.”
“He’s alone?”
Schultz nodded.
“They told him you and Dorotea were off somewhere on the estancia.”
“He didn’t think that was odd?”
“Your butler—what’s his name?”
“Antonio,” Clete furnished.
“Lavallé,” Dorotea furnished.
Antonio Lavallé had been El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade’s butler, at both the “money sewer” mansion on Avenida Coronel Díaz in Buenos Aires and the big house at Estancia
San Pedro y San Pablo, for longer than Clete and Dorotea were old.
“Yeah,” Schultz continued, “he managed, without coming right out and saying it, to tell him that you and Dorotea went off to find a little romantic privacy, if you take my meaning.”
“And?” Clete said.
“He asked when you would be back, and Antonio said, ‘Probably before lunch.’ Delgano said that he really had to see you, and that he would just wait.”
“And?”
“Antonio gave him coffee and rolls, and according to the last word I got, Delgano’s sitting on your verandah waiting for you to come home.”
“When was your last word?”
“Just before we heard you’d come onto the estancia. Maybe ten minutes ago.”
Frade, obviously in thought, didn’t reply.
“Come on, my darling,” Dorotea said. “Give us your worst-case scenario; you’re very good at that.”
“Okay. I will. He’s going to tell me that the Bureau of Internal Security would prefer that we handle the unfortunate situation in a civilized manner.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he would rather that I just get in his car with him and go to Buenos Aires, thereby avoiding a shoot-out with my army of gauchos.”
“That’s absurd,” Dorotea said.
Clete didn’t think she really thought it was absurd.
“Possible, but I don’t think so,” Schultz said.
“Why not?” Frade challenged.
“I just don’t think so,” Schultz said. “I think if that was the case, he’d have at least brought one guy with him.” He paused, then explained: “In case you changed your mind on the way to Buenos Aires.”
“So what’s he doing here? Just paying a social call?” Frade asked.
“I think you have to find out,” Schultz said. “You open to a suggestion?”
“Wide open.”
“I take Fischer with me. Can you handle a Thompson, Fischer?”
“No,” Fischer said simply. “The only weapons I’ve ever fired was in Basic Officers’ School—the .45 and the M1 Garand.”
“Okay, I’ll give you my .45,” Schultz said, and took his pistol from his waistband. “Watch it; it’s locked and cocked.”
Fischer looked at him in confusion.
“All you have to do is take the safety off,” Schultz said. “Push this down.” He demonstrated. “There’s a round in the chamber, ready to fire.”
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